The original plan was to take a restorative, reflective New Year’s Day walk alone. I am almost never alone now: there’s always a kid with me.

But even though Erik had offered to make the original plan happen, by the time I was about to leave, Zora was antsy. I gave her the option, and she decided to come along.

The route meandered through an old quarry-turned golf course, with a side trip to a footbridge over railroad tracks. Before the footbridge, the path looped left or right, a full circle over a field, both ends meeting up at the base of the bridge. I suggested to Zora that she could go left and I could go right. We would see who made it to the bridge first. It was something, I thought as I said it, that would motivate her to keep walking. But as she walked away to the left, I realized that the slight slope of the field would hide her from my view. The circle looked smaller than it was, a trick caused by the bare, green, sameness of the field of short grass. And when she was too far for me to yell for her to come back, the gleam of her bright blond head slipped lower and lower. She turned and waved to me before she disappeared completely. I checked my worry. She would be fine. I would meet her on the other end. We were still headed to the same place.

Last night, someone asked what the highlight of the year was for each person. For me, no question, it was her brother’s birth. It was a magnificent birth. He is a magnificent baby.  2011 was momentous for other reasons, but almost everything that happened can be traced to the fact of Abram’s birth. Even the lack of sleep, slowly accumulated through the year until I caved in to drinking a daily dose of caffeine this fall, even that sweet exhaustion of baby-holding and feeding is his fault. He was born in 2011, and in many ways it was his year.

But while I wasn’t watching, my other child has grown inches and slipped from the round, soft shape of a preschooler into a girl with long strong limbs, finding her way across this loop of path without me.

When her path rises enough, I see her head again. She is luminous, hair blowing around her head like a halo, confident and quick in her step, expecting our reunion, and waving, happy to see me.

We cross the bridge. We put our feet in the water at the edge of the sound.

She still needs me to manage the careful balance of rinsing feet and drying them without shoes or socks slipping into the cold water. She laughs and wiggles on my lap. She is still a little child, angry to leave the shore and go back. She still needs to ride on my shoulder for part of the long walk back.

She will never be as young as she is today.

The book shelves in my study carry great weight for me, though. Again, probably literally, but I’d prefer not to think about what carting these boxes to my car will do to my back, or how many trips of the car it will take to get them home.

I’ve been a minister for almost 8 years now. But this is the first position where my books have had a more permanent place to rest. I packed them up 8 years ago at the end of my seminary internship, and unpacked some of them into my classroom at my first pastoring job: as a high school religion teacher. For the two years I was there, though, I had to pack up the books and take them with me when I left for the summer.

I didn’t bother to unpack them when I was in a pastoral residency program after that: my office was in a hallway and there was barely room for me, let alone my books.

When I arrived here a little over 5 years ago, the congregation was busily preparing to move me into a bigger room. I started out in a smaller one, and spent a few months there, but I returned after my maternity leave that fall to a lovely, huge study with a beautiful picture window next to my desk.

And opposite that window, there’s a whole wall of bookshelves. I got to pick them out of an office supply catalogue. And a dear, dear man named Len assembled them, and lovingly anchored them to the wall since he knew my new baby daughter might learn to crawl and pull up at church.

My books are not just some ivory-tower collection. They are connected to what I’ve done as a pastor. There’s Adam by Henri Nouwen, the book we bought all the kids on a mission trip one year, whether they were ready to read it or not, because we knew Nouwen’s story of his life with a young man with disabilities might help them understand their the week of service at an “Exceptional Persons” camp.

There are several copies of the book I give to grieving parents.

There are Bible commentaries that taught me everything I needed for sermons.

There is a beautifully bound set of all of the worship bulletins from one year of worship in this church that my head of staff secretly stashed away for a year and then turned into books for me and the other associate.

There are my Spanish grammars and workbooks that, as the pastor with the most (although it is truly pitifully little) Spanish I’ve had to use once in a while to help with translation for one of the preschool moms, or for a final check of the language in a document for a mission trip to Guatemala.

There are books about my past, and books about my future. There are books that will always remind me of a certain person, or a certain event.

Even the shelves themselves make me think about Len: when he died a year and a half ago, I was the only pastor available for an immediate visit, so I got to hold the hand that put together my shelves just after he had died, and pray with his family as they let him go.

I went into ministry for many reasons, but the books are a big reason. I love books and learning. I love the way a book can preserve knowledge, dialogue, and community, even through the centuries. I love how they smell, and I love their weight (except when I’m moving them). I love that Christians are “people of the book”.

I know this makes me a traditionalist, and a bit of an old-foagy. And I’m OK with that.

I’m not going to a new call yet. I guess God thinks I need to be not-as-busy for a little while. So in our new apartment, we have given the children a shared bedroom. My husband painted the extra room in a deep browny-purple color, and installed a floor-to-ceiling shelving system for books. In a few weeks, I’ll start unpacking my books there, across from my little arts and crafts oak desk, with one small cozy window looking out at the brick of our neighboring two-flat. There might not be room for all my books: they’ll have to share with Erik’s books and some of the kids books. And this is where I’ll write the occasional sermon and other things for the next little while, and where I hope to carve out some time to read.

As I started packing the books, I realized that they are something of a plug: one of the shelves is empty now, so I know that I am going to leave. And that I’d better get to work because there’s a whole lot to do.

What I wish I could write about is that crazy mission trip, a trip which I do believe could be made into a movie entitled: “National Lampoon’s Mission Trip” (I want to be played by Julie Bowen, by the way, because I like to imagine that if I was ridiculously thin, that’s what I would look like). However (and I’m serious about this) I’m worried that I might be charged with libel if I speak too freely.

So for now, amidst the general insanity that is my life, seven lovely things for the month of July.

1. We have a backyard. I haven’t had a backyard since I left home for college. My parents haven’t lived in a place with a backyard for about 10 years. Thus, my backyard living has been severely curtailed. But now we have one. Fenced in. Complete with fireflies, bunnies, and a garage completely overgrown with ivy. Sigh.

2. On our commutes to and fro, Zora and I have been exploring ways to drive through as much forest preserve as possible. So far, we’ve seen these magical things: egrets nesting; an elk herd; fireflies like stars; patches of prairie; fields of brown eyed susans; and a blimp.

3. Erik and I fell in love with Carolina style barbecue ( the kind with vinegary sauce), and found a good slow cooker approximation. We’re almost out of our first batch, and I think it’s time to make more.

4. A beautiful thing: Zora playing with her herd of little Moe cousins this past weekend…all of them lighting up sparklers in the twilight right about where their Great Grandpa Orville’s barn used to stand.

5. Speaking of that, sparklers were provided courtesy of Erik’s cousin Amy at her wedding. How awesomely nostalgic, sweet, and meaningful is this: Amy and her now-husband bought Orville & Ruth’s farmhouse and had their wedding under a big white tent that stood just to the side of where the barn was (until it had to be taken down a few years ago). Erik got a little teary, I think, when he first spotted the tent, like a phantom of the barn.

6. Two stops, on that wedding trip to northern Wisconsin, for lunch & pie at Norske Nook restaurants. You would not believe this pie. It is too good to be real. I think it might be a sin to drive past one if these places & not stop for pie!

7. Speaking of weddings: my sister Anna is getting married this fall and she is the BEST BRIDE EVER for selecting a bridesmaid dress for us that is completely rewearable…gorgeous but also appropriate for a minister at a professional function.

Boxes which will have to wait to be unpacked because this, my friends, is the eye of the storm: I returned last night from a trip with 8 high schoolers. When I get up from writing this, I will finish packing for a trip with 40 high schoolers. (Although, Erik and the kids an I will fly out ahead of them and get a 36 hour sabbath before we are again responsible for teenagers.) The cab arrives to take us to the airport in 4 hours.

So, from this place, 10 things:

1. I could not be prouder or more blessed by the 14 high schoolers who worked on our worship grant this year. Eight of them went to a conference on the grant this week. They were engaged and engaging, inspirational and articulate, and excited about worship. I think they blessed the entire conference with their presence and enthusiasm. The Church is going to be OK!

2. I think we can officially say that Abram has a lovely personality. He went along on this trip and had a terrible cold and cough. In spite of that, he was still a smiley flirt whenever he got the chance.

3. I think we can also officially say that Zora is exhausted.

4. Erik went to the kindergarten meeting at Zora’s potential public school. It sounds like an excellent place. Top notch. Please note: it is a Chicago Public School. Not every school in CPS is a frightening vortex of disfunction. What’s sad about that is that some of the schools are so terrible that the district averages out as horrific even with some very good individual schools. At the same time that I am thankful that we have the means to live within the boundaries for an excellent elementary school, it breaks my heart that we are in a district where many many many children are so neglected by their school system. And, now that I love within that district, I have to recognize that there are ways in which I am even more responsible for their education. (Although, I also firmly believe that I was before as well…as a resident of the state of Illinois.)

5. We picked paint colors for the new living room to be soothing: basically, our living room and dining room are the color of pea soup. Because I am Dutch, and nothing is more comforting to me that pea soup.

6. On a walk last week, Zora announced that we should call the new neighborhood “New World”, and then proceeded to (loudly & cheerfully) greet people by saying, “Hello! Welcome to New World!” I, of course, read this theologically, and find some eschatology in it. The Bible begins in a garden and ends in a city…

7. Erik has 3 hours of his life back every day. I now have several days a week when I commute over 50 miles with two small children in the car. You can draw your own conclusions about how that is affecting our life.

8. It’s Erik’s big week. Our wedding anniversary (12 years); his birthday (34); and Father’s Day coming up. I told him to buy himself a new bike. Which he soundly deserves since the bike commuting in the suburbs through the winters actually rusted through his old bike.

9. All of the “big” numbers in # 8 are completely smacked into perspective by the fact that Erik’s Grandma turned 101 last week. I think her greatest accomplishment is being the generator of the Moe clan. And not just because she’s a woman of a generation where raising your family was the main thing you did. More because they are, in fact, that incredible.

10. While I was visiting Michigan last week, I had the lovely surprise of spending a few minutes with my seminary buddy Heidi and her brand-spanking new daughter Zoe Beth. (This is her third baby…my other good seminary buddy Meika is pregnant with her third as well, which means I am behind!) We spent a fine half hour in the Calvin Seminary Student Center, chatting and catching up. Much discussion turned to being a mama and a pastor, and I’m fairly certain that we may now hold the record for most times saying “boob” on the premises of the seminary.

Meanwhile, the campus was hopping with other activity: the Christian Reformed Church Synod and, overlapping with it, the Reformed Church General Synod. Big personal excitement: I got to see two friends (briefly) who were delegates to each.

I think about denominations and the fracturing of the big-C Church every time I visit my old seminary, because I am no longer a minister of the denomination that raised and formed me. It’s bittersweet to see my classmates, not to be a delegate to Synod with them, not to serve on the same committees, not to be part of that body anymore. I miss them.

And I miss some of the wonderful quirky things about my old denomination (Canadians, conservative theology with a hefty dose of liberal social justice, peppermints in worship, even stubborn old Dutch guys who have trouble with change…)

I don’t think I’m ever going back, though. Five and a half years after becoming Presbyterian, I’ve gotten comfortable here. I think I want to stay.

I used to think of myself as an exile, but the truth is that I chose to leave. Largely for better and more opportunities to serve.

A friend who has a similar ministry path through the denominational wilderness recently mentioned that she uses the metaphor of immigrant to describe her journey. And so the old denomination becomes the old country…but by now, she’s firmly settled in the new country, enjoys visits to the old country, but knows that she lives where she belongs. That’s helpful to me.

But I still miss “home”.

The CRC and the RCA, which have a secure ecclesiastical relationship with each other, had their Synods overlap partly to conduct some joint business, but, I imagine, also to poke around the edges a little at the idea of inter-denominational unity, and maybe, just maybe, the nagging suspicion of some that these two denominations ought to consider getting back together. (They parted way in the late 1800s over issues that since have largely become irrelevant.)

My friend who’s an RCA delegate mentioned to me that for some people in the RCA, the more pressing question is not unity with the CRC, but with the PCUSA.

And then, there’s me, the (Dutch, Calvin Seminary educated, CRC-ordained) Presbyterian minister wandering around this campus where you can’t throw a peppermint without hitting a Reformed elder or pastor. And I’m wondering if I might live to see the day when all three denominations could get together. That might be the only way I get to go home. I wish I could be more hopeful about the possibility.

Of course, there’s always hope for the joyful reunion of the Church in the New Creation…

(Come quickly, Lord Jesus.)

Erica: How many wine glasses do we HAVE?

Erik: As many as we registered for when we got married.

Erica: Why in earth did we register for do many? When have we ever served that many people wine? What were we thinking?

Erik: Apparently we thought we were going to be living a life of debauchery.

(I married this man almost 12 years ago, in large part because he is entertaining…and so far, our marriage has survived 7 moves. So have at least 18 wine glasses, and I’m pretty sure a few more are hiding in the last few kitchen boxes.)

So, a few things to keep it interesting.

1. Abram is a ridiculously strong child. I will not be shocked at all if he’s crawling early, let alone walking. This kid’s favorite activity, at 3 1/2 months, is to stand while holding your thumbs. He thinks it’s hilarious.

2. Teenagers at my church have led two incredible worship services in the last couple of weeks. We are blessed at FVPC right now with a crop of worship nerds. I say that with all love and admiration. This bunch is perfectly happy to spend a morning or afternoon planning worship. But it’s not only that, they are also, as our friend Jonathan Rundman (who led a workshop for us earlier this month, put it) incredibly cool, but also accessible. His description was accurately carried through a week later when 4 of our seniors gave testimonies about how God has worked in their lives through our church, and to a one, each was compelling, intelligent, articulate and VULNERABLE with the congregation. Who ever heard of vulnerable Presbyterians?!?

3. Zora had her last day of preschool. I was an utter teary mess all day. Not so much because she’s growing up, but because I will miss, so much, that I get to spy on her during the day. My office window gives me a clear view of the preschoolers on the play ground and in the woods behind our church. What an incredible gift that has been.

4. Zora is also going through this phase where she is simply luminous. I feel like every once in a while, everything about her catches up with itself and is functioning in perfect harmony. And for a few weeks, she somehow glows, not just physically but also emotionally and intellectually. It’s not she isn’t delightful the rest of the time, but there’s something different sometimes. I suspect other kids are like this, too. Have you noticed it?

5. We are moving in a week. I am in utter and complete denial. Partly because there is no way to get everything done. We have resigned ourselves to hiring the kind of movers who pack for you because we both have to work right up until the day of the move and go back to work right after it happens. Then, just over a week later, I start a string of two back to back mission trips with teenagers (and my own children in tow). I might get a chance to unpack sometime in July.

6. We are moving to Chicago. The reminder that we are truly moving to Chicago came today when the moving company rep who visited for today’s estimate suggested that I should go with his company because they are high class, whereas many of the other moving companies we are considering may very well be run by gangsters. This was made all the more hilarious by the fact that this guy had the sort of thick Chicago accent that (prejudicially of course) would easily have won him a film role as a Chicago gangster. Also, there was one point in the conversation about logistics where I think he was actually talking about bribing our future alderman.

7. I have long dreamed of living in a Chicago two-flat. I don’t know why. I just think they are wonderful little buildings. We are moving into a first floor apartment in a two flat. This aspect of the move delights me!

8. Occasionally, Abram is skipping a feeding at night and giving us 5-6 hours straight of sleep. The only problem with this: it’s occasional. On the days after he does this, I feel about 100% better than usual. So basically, it’s like this giant tease of what will happen eventually…that I will again feel human and rested on a regular basis.

I believe that his baptism today is the single most important event in Abram’s life. Not his life so far, but his whole life.

And now that day has ended with an historic death and celebration in the streets. And, in many cases, it seems, sentiments that are difficult to square with a Christian ethic of forgiveness.

I’m not saying that I’m not, in some sense, relieved that Osama bin Laden is dead. But celebrating any death feels wrong.

And how to explain someday to Abram that the day of his baptism was historic, but not exactly a day when God’s intended wholeness of the world was restored?

“I want to speaker something in your ear.” (I want to whisper in your ear.)

Use of “what” in place of “that” as in: “I like the monkey toy what has stripes.”

“lellow” for “yellow”